


Hair

by honeyandsunshine



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: AU, Allegory for Racism, Brief Mentions of Tarsus IV, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Gen, Hair Braiding, Hurt/Comfort, I also mess around with Vulcan culture for the plot, I mean Spock's childhood is pretty much an allegory for racism so..., It just fit for the plot, Spock is a girl but I change pretty much nothing about his personality, Team as Family, There's a lot of For The Plot in here, suicide baiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-21
Updated: 2020-04-21
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:27:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23763832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeyandsunshine/pseuds/honeyandsunshine
Summary: “It is a connection to family.” She says at some point. “The sight of a Vulcan woman’s hair unconstrained is reserved for mates and familiar relatives only. With the slight constant mental connection between all Vulcans, this is one way of maintaining privacy.”Kirk smiles lightly. “I bet it must feel nice then, going to visit your family. You get to put your hair down, relax a bit.”“Vulcans do not feel anything, Captain.” Spock replies.He is wrong in other ways. She does not correct them.OR:Spock has spent her entire life with a physical reminder that she will never be accepted. The Enterprise changes some things.
Relationships: Amanda Grayson & Spock, James T. Kirk & Spock, Leonard "Bones" McCoy & Spock, Spock/Happiness, Spock/Nyota Uhura
Comments: 49
Kudos: 279





	Hair

**Author's Note:**

> I want to make it clear, on this work especially, that doing something specific for your culture or religion is something I am in no way against. That is between you and your culture/religion, and I have no right to judge or say anything against it even if I wanted to, which I surely do not! The problems that exist within this AU is because one person (Spock) is stopped from participating in her own culture because of something other people in her culture view as faults (ie. her status as half-Vulcan). I just wanted to make sure everyone was clear on this before diving into this story! It's partially written from my own POV of being mixed race and trying to determine an identity off of that, but I've certainly never experienced something to this level ever! 
> 
> Also, thank you very much for clicking on this fic. I wrote the first scene for this years ago, so finally finishing it is super exciting for me! I hope yall enjoy!

Spock runs the third time Mother tries to put her in a hat. 

Her hair is longer now, just past her ears, but not quite long enough to attempt the intricate twists and braids she has never seen Mother without. The headscarves never stay on long enough, not with how active Spock is, but hats itch and scrape her ears. Spock is three terran years old! She can go out without it. 

She’s seen plenty of other young Vulcan girls do it. She’s not any different. She has the same ears and the same clothes and when she fell and scraped her knee, it was green just like the rest of them! Logically she’s similar enough, even if Mother has different ears and bleeds red instead of green. 

Spock’s not stupid. She hears what the other Mothers say, how she’s biologically inadequate and a hybrid and  _ unnatural _ , that word’s the worst one. Mother flinches everytime they use that. She hears what they say but she ignores it because it's not true, its not! She’s not stupid, and she’s not different, and she’s going out without a hat, just like the rest of the Vulcan girls her age. 

She makes it as far as the park. There are three Vulcan girls there, hair free, all within her age range and performing traditional Vulcan exercises. Their mothers take one look at her, take their children, and leave. After all, they don’t need their children touching that one, not if she doesn’t even acknowledge their culture. They’d expect even the  _ mix  _ to know tradition.

When Mother finds her, Spock has bitten her lip all the way through. Bright green blood stains her tongue and teeth. It is the same green that runs through the veins of every Vulcan at that park, the same green that runs through every Vulcan on the planet. It changes nothing.

From then on, Spock wears the hat. 

-

When she is six, the girl in front of Spock scores three point six marks lower than her on their first exam in primary school. 

Her name is T’puth, and she is the daughter of a Vulcan Professor who sits on the Disciplinary Committee for their school. They have only this lecture hour together. They have never spoken to each other. In fact, they have never interacted before this moment. 

When their scores appear, she turns and stares at Spock with a narrowed gaze. Spock greets her with the ta’al. T’puth does not return it. 

The next week they have two exams and a peer-reviewed paper to do for class. 

Spock scores high on the first exam, even higher on the second, and then spends the rest of her time crafting a paper on the medicinal qualities of the Adun Cactus, which grows in the garden within the confines of their property. She details the fever-reducing quality of the juice within and the way the flesh can be ground into a paste that can help relieve pain. T’puth delivers a thirteen-page advocation for the euthanization of a hybrid species. 

Spock spends a minute longer reviewing the essay than necessary. Before she passes it to her classmate, she deducts half a point for incorrect grammar and commends T’puth on her use of sources. 

When she returns home that day, she braids her hair tight enough to make her scalp burn. 

-

Spock enters into her first courting when she is seventeen. He is a Vulcan boy of the same age who belongs to a house nearly as prominent as her own. He is tall, slim, and meets her father’s reasoning without hesitance. He is a logical selection for a good partner. The first time they meet she greets him with her best robe and a customary gift. He assures her that that is not necessary. After all, 

_ Who would want to marry the hybrid? _

He takes her to bed anyway, as is customary per Vulcan tradition, but their meld barely holds and the connection is sparse at best. Her attempts to delve deeper are met with mental walls that scrape at her consciousness.

“That is for a real Vulcan,” he says. He makes no attempt to remove her intricate hairpieces, and that alone says more than he would ever. Taking a mate’s hair down is a traditional part of securing the meld. Instead, he throws her robe back at her, clothes himself, and leaves. 

Real Vulcans do not have emotions. They do not take the words of any with hurt and offense. They approach situations with logic. They acknowledge the views of others if their viewpoint is within reason. 

Real Vulcans do not cry. 

Her mate was right. She is not a real Vulcan. 

—

When she leaves for Earth, Spock’s hands shake. 

They do this sometimes - _ often-  _ when she is in distress. There is no need for her to be in such a state. The school she is attending is safe and prestigious. The living area is accomodating for Vulcan needs and diet. There is nothing that should make Spock suspicious of the school or her living arrangements. 

These facts do nothing to still her hands. They tremble unbidden in her soft new gloves, so much that eventually, Spock has to hide them in the folds of her long robes. She cannot let her father see them. 

Sarek stands erect by her mother, watching her with dark, hooded eyes. When the ship is ready he nods at her. She nods back. It is the closest to a discussion they have had since she informed them of her decision to leave. Her mother, of course, does not adhere to this stringent code of silence. 

Just before Spock boards, she presses Spock as close to her chest as she can and does not let go for a full minute. Her hair smells like vanilla and cotton. Spock has still not seen it down. 

She thinks that she likely never will. 

Her mother finally releases her with a teary kiss on the cheek and a watery smile. Spock boards without returning it. Just before the shuttle takes off, Spock allows herself to glance back for just the briefest second.

That is the last time she sees her mother alive. 

_ - _

Spock’s second class at her new university is a Bio-Chemical lab, in which they will be making crystalline structures from a glowing algae found on a nearby planet. The crystals are meant to assist with lighting on planets where the oxygen concentration is too high to safely use anything remotely flammable. 

The class is divided evenly in pairs, assigned randomly by a number generator. Most individuals are paired with a human counterpart, as a majority of the class is made up of humans and human-subspecies. Spock is no exception, and some part of her, deeply hidden and quiet, trembles at the idea of this grouping. It is her first real interaction with a human outside of her mother, her first interaction with this other half of herself. 

To say it does not go as planned is an understatement.

Her partner is a human girl, approximately nineteen years of age, with striking red hair and small pursed lips. She does not appear to be as friendly as many of her other human friends. She does not introduce herself. She does not return Spock’s aborted ta’al. 

Instead, she simply begins the experiment without either Spock or the instruction sheet. Her pale skin glistens under the bright lab lights. Spock spends a long moment stopping herself from biting her lip. 

“It would be prudent to wait for the instructor to hand out the information sheets,” Spock says mildly, when it is clear that the girl will not stop without Spock’s interference. The girl raises a brow at her before kicking at her bag. 

“I got a crystal from the class before us. As long as we show it to the professor before we leave, we’ll get a perfect score. This class isn’t important anyway.”

This class is half of their curriculum. Spock feels sweat begin to bead on her brow. 

“That is illogical.” She says. “If we were to do the experiment, then we would get the same result, and there would be no chance of-”

“What have you never lied?” The girls drawls, cutting her off. Her face is one of those morphed emotions humans always seem to display, somewhere between irritation and disbelief. 

Spock swallows once - _ illogical, unneeded- _ and explains. 

“I am Vulcan. We do not lie.” She says, and ignores the way the words in themselves are a lie, the way the girl’s eyes narrow in distaste. 

“Oh.”

Spock tucks one of her many braids out of view to hide her shaking palms. Her lips thin to near invisibility. When the instructor comes around, the girl is facing the other direction, and Spock can barely clasp the instruction booklet in her shaking fingers. The rest of the lab is spent in near silence with a few small exceptions. She corrects the girl twice more on improper lab equipment management, and once on a mistake that would have cost them their entire grade.

By the end of the lab, Spock has a perfect score, a new crystal, and no partner. 

She tells herself that this is of no matter, and by the end of the day, she almost believes it. 

-

Spock graduates and no one shows. Her mother is sick with a virus. Her father greets her with a video message that lasts less than five minutes. 

To prepare, Spock ties her hair as much as possible behind her head. The braids are tight enough to give her a migraine. 

She still keeps them in for five days. 

If they are to announce her as a Vulcan, she might as well try to look like one. 

-

Christopher Pike treats Spock… differently than many others she has encountered. 

He takes note of her hair, just as much as he does the green pallor to her skin and the points of her ears. Spock thinks there is very little the man does not notice. Yet, he does not mention these differences to Spock. He does not even once make any allusion to them.

Instead, he is insistent on learning the effects of her actions, on the way she responds to her crewmates and his own orders. 

It is not exactly acknowledgment, but it is acceptance. Spock thinks, perhaps, this will be the best she can get. 

And then she meets Kirk. 

-

Kirk is one of Nyota’s classmates. 

He is loud and obnoxious and thinks better of himself then most. His grades are an odd mix of impeccable and passing just above the threshold. Spock has never had him in class but she knows all of her coworkers land on either of two ends of the spectrum: either they love him or they absolutely abhor him. 

Nyota falls into the latter. 

Nearly half of their conversations as they lie in bed relate to this man. Nyota finds him absolutely infuriating. She also finds him incredibly brilliant. Spock cannot comprehend one emotion, let alone the two ideas at once.

Nyota calls him intricate and annoying, smart but also dumb. She thinks he’s too stuck up his own ass but says that he cares about people more than most. 

Nyota calls him a horrible enigma. Spock just finds him incredibly confusing.

The Kobayashi Maru occurs the next week. This does nothing to help.

-

The next few events happen in quick succession. Spock accuses Kirk of cheating. Kirk can no longer attend their mission. Kirk sneaks aboard the ship anyway. Pike is her Captain, then she is Captain. Kirk is there, and then he is not there. There is another older her who brings Kirk back. Kirk wants her to call him Jim. She will not. Kirk is now her Captain.

(Somewhere in there her planet burns. Her mother dies. If she were Vulcan, she would spend more time thinking of this. As whatever she is, she tries to avoid it whenever possible.)

\--

Spock goes to New Vulcan for the memorial. 

She gets three new scars and loses one of her mother’s hairpieces during the trip. When she returns, Nyota begs her to go to Kirk. 

Spock does nothing but buy a new headscarf.

-

“Why do you wear your hair like that?”

The Captain and her are on better standing, Spock thinks. She accepts that after the attack on Vulcan, she was compromised. She acted without logic, and her transgression was fixed by instead having Kirk take position as captain. With the sufficient evidence she now has, following Kirk’s judgement is both easier and a logical choice. 

He saved a significant number of people that day, and his actions from that point have always been guided towards protecting those in need and the search for truth. Kirk is kind and understanding, both human traits, but they seem to have steered him well along his career and as Captain. It is within the realm of logic to stand by his word, and so Spock does, while still ensuring that his word is based on truth and reason. 

It is unVulcan-like to follow on blind faith alone. She must still hold him accountable for his actions. It is a balance of sorts, his valiant faith and her steady presence.

They are what her older counterpart calls a ‘good team’. 

Still, as ‘good’ as they are, they are still young and relatively unacquainted to each other’s pasts and cultures. While Spock knew of Kirk’s time at the academy, anything before then was simple speculation and what little was written outside surprisingly sealed records. For his part, Kirk has never studied Vulcan or its culture; any classes were far outside the course schedule of a future engineer, and few Vulcan chose to study anywhere that wasn’t planetside, at least before the destruction of Vulcan. While, Spock was probably not the first Vulcan he had ever seen; likely, she was the first Vulcan Kirk had ever met. 

And she isn’t even  _ truly _ Vulcan.

So the question isn’t confusing per say, it’s just not what Spock expected an hour into their weekly game of chess. She blinks, covers up her surprise by moving her bishop to take his knight, and promptly remains impassive to her partner’s near-immediate sputtering.

Apparently, it was not what Kirk expected himself to say either. 

“I didn’t mean- I meant I did but-” Kirk turns a rather bright shade of red. “I hope I didn’t offend you!”

Spock raises a brow.

“Vulcans do not take offense.” She says. This, of course, does not truly apply to her. She neglects to mention this.

Kirk seems to take her at her word and nods. His brows are still knit, however, and the chess game lays forgotten in front of them. 

“Would it be alright if I still asked you then?” He asks. His eyes do not raise to the elaborate braids and knots that adorn her scalp. Instead, he keeps his gaze firmly centered on her face searching futilely for any tell that she might be uncomfortable. It’s a show of respect she realizes. If she does not bring it up, then he will not either. It is his way of maintaining her own privacy and the privacy of her now dwindling people. If she were not Vulcan (- _ ish) _ , she might even say his concern is endearing. 

Endearing but not typical, at least not the way he’s going about it.

“Would it not be easier to do the research yourself?” Spock asks. Her Captain is many things, but he is not lazy. She’s seen the effort he puts into his position, into what he views as  _ his _ people. He looks after his crew and is surprisingly culturally sensitive for someone who has never left Earth. She’s even seen him studying different culture’s basic greetings with Uhura in between shifts. And his dedication shows. Other species and races jump for a chance to join their ranks, even with the little time has amassed since his time as Captain. Their crew is one of the most diverse in Starfleet. 

Kirk puts in time to get to know every member of his crew and at least the barebones of their backgrounds. Questioning without some sort of background knowledge is not usually his style. 

Kirk, in response to her question, only shrugs. 

“You’re the only Vulcan I have on my staff, and with all the rebuilding New Vulcan is doing, the culture is bound to fluctuate in some way.” He says, seemingly refocused on the chessboard despite never reaching for a piece. “And your background is not usual of most Vulcans. I’ve studied enough to know at least that much. I wanted to know why  _ you  _ do it, Spock. I want to be sure you’re comfortable here and if you’re not, I want to find a way to remedy that.” He fixes the intensity of his gaze on her. “If I can’t even take care of my First, how am I expected to look after the rest of my crew?” 

There’s a certain steadiness in his gaze that Spock recognizes from watching her Captain up on deck, that unwavering need to protect and look after his own. It’s somehow just as unsettling as it is grounding. And as Spock stares back at him, she realizes one thing. The Captain is a good man. Spock may not be a good Vulcan - _ she is hardly Vulcan at all- _ , but who is she to take that good away from anyone. 

“Your reasoning is logical.” She says. “It is your move, Captain. Take your turn, and I shall explain the tradition. It began Pre-Surak…” 

The explanation takes the entire game. Kirk’s attention never wanes. 

_ “It is a connection to family.” She says at some point. “The sight of a Vulcan woman’s hair unconstrained is reserved for mates and familiar relatives only. With the slight constant mental connection between all Vulcans, this is one way of maintaining privacy.” _

_ Kirk smiles lightly. “I bet it must feel nice then, going to visit your family. You get to put your hair down, relax a bit.”  _

_ “Vulcans do not feel anything, Captain.” Spock replies.  _

_ He is wrong in other ways. She does not correct them.  _

_ She does, however, begin to call him Jim.  _

-

Spock does not understand Dr. McCoy. That is not to say that she thinks him to be undeserving of his position on the Enterprise. As a CMO, the man is meticulous and well-versed in his field, but outside of their designated positions, the relationship between them is strained to say the least. 

It appears that everything Spock does is a personal offense against Dr. McCoy. No, it actually seems more than that. It appears that Spock  _ herself _ is a personal offense to McCoy. This in itself is not a new sensation for Spock, but the way he goes about it is… fascinating. 

Everyone else who had taken offense against Spock’s existence had done everything in their power to get as far away from Spock as possible, whether that meant physically leaving Spock’s area or suggesting that Spock remove herself from the area - _ or existence-  _ entirely. McCoy seems to have gone the opposite route. Instead of leaving her presence, she finds he is constantly  _ in  _ her presence, teasing and mocking and commenting on everything she does. 

It is almost as if he goes out of his way to do this, which confuses Spock greatly. Neither Jim nor Nyota are any help with this. Jim seems beyond entertained with the situation. Nyota appears to switch between that and an anger Spock cannot comprehend. 

It comes to a head in the cafeteria just one month after Kirk has become Captain. She and McCoy are debating a topic which has been at the forefront of their arguments for nearly a week. Spock sits down at one table. McCoy sits down next to her, and continues with his discussion. 

“That’s because your hair is braided so tight I doubt-” McCoy says, at some point, and Spock, who has listened to his entire tirade with a straight face, jerks hard. 

Her fork clatters to the table, and McCoy is suddenly, forcibly silent. He eyes the cutlery she has just thrown with a tight gaze. 

Silently, he reaches across the table to hand her another fork and then continues with his rant. This tirade is instead about her correcting the incorrect punctuation on his last report. Spock unclenches her fingers at the change. Something flashes in McCoy’s face at that, a change Spock cannot decipher. From then on McCoy teases her about her uptight demeanor, the preciseness of her actions, the no-nonsense way she speaks. He critiques her actions on bridge, to Jim, and anyone else who will listen.

He never says another word about her hair. 

Spock does not have words for the warmth that settles behind her sternum at the action. She describes it to Nyota once, nose buried in her hair as her girlfriend drifts off to sleep. 

_ Nyota calls it respecting boundaries with a rye twist of her lips. Spock doesn’t think that’s quite right either. _

_ It’s still closer than anything she could have thought of. _

-

Spock has been First Officer to Jim for nearly four months when Vulcan Ambassador Saaren comes aboard.

This ambassador she is familiar with. Saaren had worked alongside her father for many years before Sarek had moved onto interplanetary diplomacy. He and Sarek had known each other increasingly well, and when she was young, he had spent many dinners with them at their home. 

And then one night he had expressed his distaste that they let the  _ rish-ha-vel  _ sit at the table with them, and Amanda never let the Vulcan over again. 

She does not think his views have changed any.

-

She was correct in her assessment. 

Saaren has been aboard the Enterprise for two hours and not once has he met her gaze. Instead, he remains in their meeting room, back tall and erect, as he faces Jim and Jim alone. Spock and Dr. McCoy, who are also present for this meeting, stand awkwardly behind their Captain. McCoy keeps sending her pointed looks. Spock stares firmly at a point on the board, and thinks that she should have added the gold hair rings. Her bottom lip stays caught tight between her front teeth. 

“Captain Kirk, perhaps we could discuss this alone _.”  _ Saaren says, not for the first time.

Her Captain looks incredibly confused and slightly angry. McCoy shoots Spock a look that is much the same. Spock has the distinct urge to braid her hair just that much tighter. 

She already knows that when she takes the braids out, her scalp will bleed.

“Ambassador, Dr. McCoy is here per your own instruction, so I presume you are not dismissing him. Commander Spock is the one handling this transaction. She is more than capable of discussing this with you.” Jim begins with what she is learning is forced politeness. “Why would I send her away?”

Saaren’s lip curls ever so slightly. It is the same look he wore when Amanda threw him out of the house years ago.

“Surely, you have someone who can better speak on this subject than the half-breed.”

Jim stills. Spock bites her lip straight through. Beside her, McCoy’s face goes bright red. Jim throws out a hand before he can open his mouth.

His voice is stern and unflinching when he addresses the ambassador. 

“Perhaps, we misunderstood each other, Ambassador. What made you think that any form of disrespect towards my colleges would be allowed here?”

“I highly doubt Starfleet would allow such a-”

“And I highly doubt that finishing that statement will gain you anything more than a swift and final removal from this ship, Ambassador.” Jim says. He steps forward to place himself more firmly between Spock and the Ambassador. McCoy appears to be doing the same as well, drawing himself up to full height and glaring Saaren down with none of the restraint Jim is showing. He puts his tanned hand over the sleeve of her tunic, and Spock is so distinctly reminded of a brand from the pulsing beat radiating from his skin. 

She can’t feel his exact emotions from the two layers of fabric, but whatever they are, they’re strong. Surprising. She thought McCoy would appreciate someone sharing his opinion of her. Jim saves her from having to think more on that subject. His smile is tight and thin on his face. 

“Now, Ambassador Saaren, if you would kindly  _ sit down,  _ my college would like to give her presentation.”

To Spock’s complete surprise, he does. 

The rest of the meeting goes without one more mention of Spock’s heritage. Ambassador Saaren is distinctly silent. McCoy and Jim are as well, with the exception of their angry, grating emotions, which Spock can feel even a few feet away. 

The sheer strength of them gives Spock the distinct urge to thank them. She has no idea what she would be thanking them for. 

-

When the meeting ends, McCoy and Jim drag her into the mess hall. They’re both trying to be gentle, Spock thinks. She has sparred with them both on multiple occasions, and knows that they can and often are more forceful than this. That doesn’t stop her Captain from leading her to the table with a gentle hand at her back, and McCoy following behind with two trays: one piled with a couple sandwiches and chips and the other with as many Vulcan dishes she knows the replicators can create. 

He drops the first tray in front of himself and pushes the other to Spock with a large amount of unnecessary force. 

“The man’s an ass, Spock. Don’t listen to him.” McCoy says in response to her raised brow. His cheeks still tinged red in what she has discerned is anger.

Spock turns more fully to him, genuinely confused. 

“Saaren believes me to be inferior to him due to mixed race. I thought you held the same opinion of my status, Dr. McCoy.” 

McCoy recoils as if struck. His elbow catches his plate and sends it crashing to the floor. McCoy does not move to pick it up. Jim, who has fixed McCoy with a sudden sharp gaze, does not move to pick it up. Eventually, Spock, who is losing her understanding of the situation very quickly, takes it upon herself to kneel to pick up the spilled sandwich and chips. 

McCoy very nearly bows her over in his rush to do it instead. In that moment, the skin on their bare arms brush. 

She catches the hints of horror and self-disgust through the sparse bond before he jerks away to toss his plate. 

McCoy does not meet her gaze for the rest of the night.

-

_ After the Ambassador leaves, McCoy approaches her with red-rimmed eyes and apologizes for every word he’s ever said against her. He does not beg for her forgiveness, but he does beg for her to hold none of it as truth, pleading with shaky breaths to understand how important she is to this crew, just the way she is. He offers to turn in his resignation, what Spock understands to be the most important thing to him after his daughter and their crew.  _

_ Spock watches his hands shake, the way it mirrors her own, and tells him that it is of no matter. She pretends not to notice when he nearly sobs in relief.  _

_ - _

The next day, there is a tension when Spock arrives. She sits next to Jim in the cafeteria, as she always has. Jim says good morning to her, as he always does. The seat where McCoy usually sits is surprisingly empty. It remains that way for the entirety of their breakfast. The doctor does not come up to the bridge. The doctor does not meet her in the labs. Eventually, Spock sees him in the hall. He greets her with a nod and a soft “ _ Commander”  _ and nothing more. 

Spock thinks she is missing something. She can not determine what.

McCoy still will not look her in the eye. 

_ - _

Another week of odd and stilted silence passes before Spock thinks to ask Nyota. Surely as a human, she has some idea of what is happening. 

“You miss him,” Nyota answers, as they get ready for shift. “But he feels guilty, love. He did something awful, and he’s trying to make up for it.”

“Doctor McCoy has nothing to be gu-”

“Yes, he does,” She says, stern. Then sighs. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t miss him. It doesn’t mean he doesn’t miss you. It’s complicated. All relationships are.”

Her relationships with her past classmates were never like this. Perhaps, Spock thinks, they were not relationships at all.

_ - _

One more week passes, and Spock decides that being strategic is best. She and McCoy have rarely discussed anything explicitly. Almost every single one of their interactions have resulted in arguments.

So Spock stages a fight. All in all, it's not hard to do. 

She holds until McCoy works a double, which she knows 95.6% of the time turns into a triple, leaving him exhausted and overworked. Its when they always fought before this. The logic should, in theory, still apply. Then, she waits for the perfect moment to strike. 

That time is, apparently, at 0600 in the mess hall before her shift. She eyes McCoy and Jim sitting together at the edge of the mess, and changes her morning plans from a meeting to fixing whatever this is between herself and McCoy. She currently has more datapads on her then she would normally carry, which may make explaining her presence in the mess difficult, but if the tired look on McCoy’s face is any indication, its unlikely he’ll notice how she approaches them without food or drink in her hands. 

“Captain, Doctor, have you discussed the overview of our next mission from Starfleet, yet?” She allows as introduction. Across from her, Jim raises a brow at her and her lack of food but says nothing. She suspects he'll be asking about this later. 

For now, he does nothing more than offer her a smile and a soft good morning. 

“Spock, it’s early. Sun ain’t even up yet.” McCoy grouses from Jim’s side. He’s nearly face down in his breakfast, but he’s conscious enough to send a half-hearted wince over the remains of his once brimming coffee-cup. It’s more interaction than the two have shared in days. 

Spock works hard to keep her face neutral and pretends that she hadn’t planned to find him when he was too tired to dodge her presence. 

“I assure you Doctor there is no sun in this side of the galaxy.” Her actions are calm and precise as she places down her armful of datapads. Jim bites down on his lip to curb his laughter. “The closest ‘Sun’ would be in the Milky Way Galaxy, where your home planet currently-.” 

McCoy lets out a groan, and Jim’s apparently tattered sense of composure leaves him. It’s only Spock’s quick thinking that has him avoiding spitting coffee all over his datapads, as he turns away, shoves a hand over his mouth, and almost immediately doubles over into inescapable laughter.

“Amazing.” She hears McCoy mutter, even over Jim’s wheezing breaths. “Ain’t you just out here showin’ off, Sunshine.” 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Doctor.” She responds, and ignores the way he freezes when he looks up and it finally sets in who he’s been talking to. She will not let him leave now. “Did you approve the proposal I sent you?”

“Proposal?” McCoy says. “Commander Spock, I’m not certain-“

McCoy rarely calls anyone by their title unless he is upset with them. She brought this up to Nyota as well. Apparently, he’s trying for respect. 

Spock decides she would rather have him insult her to her face than hear that title out of his mouth again. She shoves a datapad at him and turns a look at her Captain who has finally stopped laughing.

“Captain, Officer Sulu requested your assistance on the Bridge. Perhaps you should assist him?”

“Perhaps I should, Spock.” The man returns, cheerily. He turns to grin something knowing and odd at Spock. “Have a good breakfast, you two. I’ll see you on Bridge!”

The man most certainly knows what’s going on. It’s a bit terrifying how intuitive the man is.

She turns back to McCoy in time to watch his face change from exhausted to glowering in an instant. 

“What the hell is this? There’s no way Jim okayed this.”

Spock raises a brow.

“The Captain didn’t need to. As Head Science Officer, I have the authority to conduct clinical trials as necessary. The only approval I would need is your own.”

“And you’re not gonna get it!” McCoy snaps. “In what century, is this ethical? For god’s sake, we’ve bypassed the 21st century by hundreds of years, and this barbarity wouldn’t fly then!”

“They signed a waiver, Doctor.” For a trial that will not exist, but she will not be the one to tell him that, at least not now. Especially, not when this finally gets the reaction she’s been expecting. 

“What are ya crazy, Spock? We’re not out here doing experiments like loons;  _ signed a waiver _ , my ass. What were ya even thinkin’ in that green-blooded-” He stops himself with a click of teeth and wide eyes. His breaths hitch almost immediately. “That’s- shit that’s not what I- Damn it, I’m sorry Spock, that’s not what I meant to do.”

“There is no harm done, Doctor.” Spock says, even as McCoy starts to shake his head. He swipes an angry hand through his hair and huffs to himself. 

“And I thought I was doing better-  _ damn it, Leonard you can’t even do this right _ .”

The self-reprimanding tone in his voice makes something in Spock’s stomach clench unnecessarily. She felt the same thing when Nyota told her about how some of the older men in her town would treat her because of the color of her skin, and when Jim confided in her about Tarsus IV. She decides that it is a feeling she would rather not experience again. 

“I do not blame you for anything, Doctor.” She tries, and reaches out to lay a hand on his sleeve. “There is no need to act any different around me than you have been.”

“Yes there is!” McCoy snaps, and then colors slightly. He runs his hands through his hair one more time before taking a deep breath. Spock thinks, that if she were human, she would find his eyes incredibly sad. “Spock, you said you thought I held the same opinions as that-  _ that asshole _ who came on ship. You thought that I thought you were disgusting or beneath me. That means I need to change. I never want you to think I hold anything less than the highest respect for you because I can’t get my damn mouth to shut, alright? What does that say about me as your  _ Doctor? What does that say about me as your friend? _ ” 

The man looks frustrated and upset, and Spock cannot think of how to fix this. She thinks that in some way, Jim and Nyota, who she has always gone to, agree with this self-assessment and she does not know how to explain that regardless of what McCoy has said, she has never felt anything but safe with him. That means that no matter how difficult this is for her to describe, she has to at least try to fix this. 

“Perhaps, that is what I thought.” Spock starts. “But perhaps, as you have a habit of saying, I am not always right.”

She shakes his head when he starts to interject.

“Please allow me to speak, Doctor.” McCoy immediately shuts his mouth. “For all you speak about my heritage, as my Doctor, you have never treated me differently in practice or in the field. While we do argue, in Jim and Nyota’s opinion far more than we should, you have always taken my opinion into account. You have always judged my actions as my own. Your words have not always been respectful, but your actions are. There has never been a moment since Jim has become Captain that I have felt unsafe with you. That was not the case with Saaren, that was not the case with many other Vulcans  _ or humans _ I have known, but it has always been so with you. Perhaps, there are some things about our relationship that need to change, but not all of it. Not most of it.” 

She blows out a breath and holds the gaze of the man in front of her the best she can.

“If you truly would like to apologize to me, then it's only logical that I should give you terms to do so, so that we can continue to work together as harmoniously as possible. This is my condition. Change what you will about what words you use to refer to me or the tone in which you do so, but do not change anything else. I have become quite accustomed to having someone to debate with. It would be… unsatisfactory to lose that.”

McCoy stares at her unblinking for one second, two, before he sputters something out. 

“Un- _ unsatisfactory _ ?!” He says, his emotions shifting rapidly beneath her touch. “Spock, you want me to go back to insulting you because it would be  _ unsatisfactory  _ if I didn’t? What does that even mean?”

“Unsatisfactory is an adjective defined as-”

“No, not-!” McCoy laughs slightly hysterically, and Spock can’t help the way her stomach unclenches at the sound. It has been too long since she has last heard him make anything close to that sound. “Spock that doesn’t make any sense! What I said was degrading and awful to you!”

“Perhaps the wordage was, but the arguments were mentally stimulating. While you have a habit of involving emotions into our debates, your logic is often quite sound.”

“My- my logic? You haven’t said anything nice about my  _ logic  _ since we’ve known each other!”

“Then, we’re all learning how we should and should not refer to each other.” She says, with a tilt of her head. “That being said: your apology is accepted, and now you can stop being guilty. It’s only logical.”

“That’s not,” He sighs, but the guilt in his face has receded somewhat. “That’s not the same, darlin’. What I did, I can’t just excuse that.” 

“Then don’t.” Spock responds, and ignores the astounded look he sends her. “Is it not one of your human sayings to learn from your mistakes? You will do more harm to me by staying away than by remaining close. Stay and do better. We will both benefit from it.”

Something in the Doctor’s swirling emotions shifts, then shudders, then caves entirely. Each change is nearly electric in the small space, so much so that Spock would be able to feel it even without their shared touch. She may not quite understand the meaning behind it, but she thinks that possibly, he understands.

“A’right.” He says, softly. “A’right, Spock, a’right. Let’s try again, huh? We’ll see if these old bones can change.”

“You’re not old, Doctor.” She says, which is as close to a yes as she’ll allow. 

She lets him pull his hands away, and pretends, again, that she doesn’t notice the red-rimming of his eyes and the way he quickly swipes his hands over his face. He smiles at her, soft and melancholy, and then goes to take his tray. 

“Thank you for this. I’ll see ya later, Spock.”

It’s what she wanted, but its not perfect, not yet. There’s something else. Something not… right. Spock doesn’t miss the insults the two lobbed at each other; she doubts she ever will, but her name in his mouth sounds different. McCoy doesn’t call anyone by their name anymore. It’s always a nickname. She expects he viewed everything he called her earlier as such, and the absence of such a moniker makes her own name seem small, in comparison. 

“Doctor.” He turns to her, and there’s something in his gaze that pins her to the spot. She swallows and continues. “Perhaps- the term you used earlier, regarding your planet’s star? It would be... sufficient if you wished to call me that instead.” 

The something in his gaze softens immediately, and the corners of his mouth twitch slightly. 

“We can do that then, Sunshine.”

-

Spock has determined that in accepting McCoy’s apology, she may have created more problems for herself (answering a call very late into her meditation to explain away the non-existent trials being one of them). She has also determined that these problems at least will draw no sympathy from either her girlfriend or her Captain. 

They are discussing allocations for funding for new bedding for sickbay. McCoy has called her in to help determine how to keep his patient’s most comfortable during their time with him. 

Spock does not understand why she is involved in this. As many of her colleges have informed her, comforting is not one of her strong-suits, but McCoy makes a point to ask for her opinion now. He did not do this beforehand, not this openly. Jim says that McCoy speaks in a way that is less direct than most. He says that their ways of expressing themselves do not tend to mesh well together, which is why they’re always at odds with each other. 

Spock thinks secretly that they are far past that, and in no uncertain terms, she and McCoy just prefer to argue. 

“It’s not a hard question.” McCoy says, rolling his eyes. “If you were a patient, what bedding would you prefer?”

Spock opens her mouth. Closes it. Feels the weight of the Doctor’s gaze upon her.

She tries again.

“As a Vulcan, I-“

McCoy cuts her off. 

“I didn’t ask you, as a Vulcan. I asked you as  _ you _ . Now, which one would you prefer?”

Spock’s mouth is dry, which is illogical because she distinctly remembers taking a sip of water before entering sickbay. She can feel her heart beat in her side, a steady thum that should not be as loud as it is. 

She readies herself to refute the idea of a preference in such an endeavor. She is not allergic to either material, dye, or otherwise. Whatever she is draped with upon any stay in sickbay holds no weight in whether or not she will make a full recovery. 

She opens her mouth to say such. What comes out instead is:

“Cotton.”

Dr. McCoy nods and picks up a datapad. 

“Cotton it is. Now c’mon, Sunshine, I need your opinion on this new vaccine.”

That night Spock brings up her chart on her monitor. There nestled between her allergies and her dietary needs are the words ‘PREFERS COTTON’ in stark red. 

Spock stares for one second, two, and then quietly shuts it off. In that moment, she thinks she and Dr. McCoy understand each other perfectly.

-

The entire Enterprise is invited to the New Year’s Gala. 

Usually it is just officers, but Jim Kirk is nothing if not fair, and somehow a time is found when the ship is docked for maintenance that all members that would like to participate are able to come. It’s a tight fit, with so many crewmen in one area, but working on such a close-knit ship has made most everyone immune to such a thing.

Jim wears his dress uniform and flirts with some officers from another ship docked across the way. Scott, in a rather astounding display of ingenuity, manages to sneak in an entire jug of contraband whisky in his kilt, and then promptly pulls it out directly in front of security. Hulu and Chekov somehow put on the same outfit and take bets the entire time to decide who needs to change. Neither of them do. Dr. McCoy even shows up, surprising everyone with a gray tux and blue bowtie that instantly has every nurse in his department swooning.

Spock debates not going. There is still after all work to be done, work that cannot be done at an event where half of her coworkers are inebriated far beyond the legal limits. She puts on her ceremonial robe anyway and attends, partially because it will be good for higher command to see some members of their crew retaining their sobriety but mostly because Jim threatened that if she did not show he would “force you on a mandatory vacation leave, effective until you take some kind of a break Commander.”

So she goes and makes her way to sit in a corner quietly and attempt to ignore the rather offensive language Scotty shouts at the officer making off with his liquor. 

That is her plan at least, until she spots Nyota. 

Her girlfriend is dressed in a tight black dress and heels, and her hair for once trails down her back without a trace of the usual ponytail. Gone is the communicator. Instead, a clutch jangles back and forth from her wrist as she subtly goads Sulu and Chekov into more and more unusual bets. 

Spock’s mouth goes numb. The conversation she’s having with the Captain petters off to nothing, and when he follows her gaze to determine the cause, his mouth curls in the sharpest smirk she has ever seen him wear. 

The Captain waves Nyota over, bright and boisterous and grinning, and claps Spock on the shoulder when she sees them. Spock resolutely keeps the most neutral expression on her face. 

Jim winks at her anyway and promptly makes his leave. 

“He’s insufferable,” Nyota says fondly when she’s finally made her way through the crowd.

“The Captain is certainly… fascinating.” Spock replies, watching as the man gives her a thumbs up from his new position by a similarly grinning McCoy. 

Nyota laughs, soft and slight, face lit up by the blinding lights of the ballroom, and Spock’s stomach  _ burns _ . They do not kiss but it feels like it. Her skin is sensitive and warm. The fine hairs on her arm stand on end. 

They talk for the rest of the night, and when the gala is over, Nyota takes her hand and leads her to the bedroom. 

She kisses her in the elevator, against the hallway wall. She nips at her throat and hums against her cheek, and when her room opens, Nyota strips off her robe and kisses trails there too. They press close and tangle up on the bed. Spock’s skin thrums with  _ love love love _ and everything is perfect.

Then, Nyota reaches for the hairpiece and Spock’s breath catches in her throat. 

The hand stills.

“Spock? Love, are you alright?” Nyota asks. 

Spock can’t find it in herself to answer. She has had four mates, three of whom she bedded, and none who thought it needed to remove the hairpieces of a half-Vulcan. Nyota knows the traditions, was in her class when Spock presented it, so why did she-

Nyota moves into her field of vision. Her brows are knit, eyes worried, like she doesn’t quite know what to do with the situation. 

“Spock, did I do something wrong?” She asks again, her hand reaching out to trace lightly along one pointed ear. “If you want to stop, we can stop.”

Spock shakes her head, mutters a quiet “no”. Nyota stops anyway. 

She does not reach for her hairpiece. She does not further the meld. Instead, she rolls over until they are just barely touching, hip to hip, shoulder to shoulder. 

“Tell me if you’re ready.” Nyota says, Vulcan dripping heavy off her tongue. Her proximity is enough that she cannot mask the concern waxing and waning along her skin, lapping emotions fading in and out with each breath. “We don’t have to do this; we  _ never _ have to do this, if you don’t want to.”

Spock says nothing. Hours pass. Eventually, Nyota drops off into a troubled sleep. 

Spock does not cry.

That does not make her a real Vulcan. 

—

The situation with Nyota is… complicated now. 

Since the events after the gala, Spock has not seen Nyota alone for more than five minutes. Between an incident on bridge, a necessary research deadline, and her own  _ hesitance _ , it appears that approaching Nyota,  _ explaining herself  _ to Nyota will not be as simple as she had previously taken into account. 

Nyota is afterall human. While Spock may not experience these emotions, it is necessary for her to take the feelings of her partner into account. If she does not do such, then their relationship will not last. However, to understand human emotions she needs a human to explain them to her.

After much speculation, she decides to go to the Captain. 

While much of the fraternization and flirtation many accuse him of is greatly exaggerated, the Captain has told her of a few of his affairs before the Enterprise, and Nyota has confirmed just as much, if not many more than he has previously named. 

_ She even once said that she was tempted, if only a little. Spock suspects that Nyota had meant this to be a great secret. It was… less than so. Attraction is a rather common reaction to seeing the Captain in any capacity. Spock would spend much less time saving him from love-struck locals and over-affectionate Admirals if this were not the case. _

All of this data available to her implies that Jim has experience in the matter of human relationships  _ and _ human-alien relationships. As such, he would be the most likely to give her relevant information on how to handle the situation with Nyota. She decides to ask him during their weekly game of chess, a time in which he is seemingly always asking about her personal life anyway. 

She waits for the opportune moment, when the game has stalled to voice her thoughts. The opportune time comes when Jim has spent more than two minutes staring at the board without making so much as a move. 

“Jim.” She says. “I have a question for you.”

Jim raises a brow, in an action that makes Spock feel as if she is standing in front of a rather peculiar mirror. 

“Oh?”

“It pertains to Nyota and our.. relationship.”

“ _ Oh.”  _ Jim says, and from that one word Spock knows he is schooling a grin. “Well, Ms. Spock, what would you like to know?”

“My past relationships have not been like they have with Nyota. On the notion of human relationships, I am not-. That is-”

Spock falters. 

She is the only living hybrid of her kind, the only to share her unique experiences on Vulcan, and the Captain, while versed in some Vulcan customs, is not knowledgeable of all areas. While detailing the events of a Vulcan courtship is not discouraged, doing so with her Captain is a...less than optimal idea. She can count many ways in which this does not adhere to professional boundaries. 

Then again, she is currently playing chess with the Captain in his quarters during some of the few hours they have to themselves. She just addressed him as ‘Jim’. 

Perhaps this entire situation is beyond professionalism. 

She takes a breath and restarts. 

“The mates I had before Nyota. Did not… they were not as..” she falters again and feels the weight of her Captain’s gaze shift from interested to worried. Finally, she decides to be as her human counterparts are and allows for a small amount of vagueness. “When we consummated our bond, many did not view me as a true Vulcan. My.. comfort was of little concern to him, to any of them.”

The Captain stiffens with a hitched off breath. 

Spock notes the tense set of his shoulders and the telling clench of his jaw. His hands press so tight against the board, his knuckles turn white. 

“I have upset you.” She deduces. 

“ _ You  _ haven’t done anything, Spock.” Jim responds, and Spock refrains from commenting on the vagueness of his phrase. Doing so would be… hypocritical. Still, she watches the Captain work his jaw for a moment and feels her stomach clench.

“Captain,” she tries again, and searches for the phrase that will help her to decipher his mannerisms. “Are you.. alright?”

“I’m fine, Spock.” Jim says. 

Jim, Spock has learned, is very bad at lying. This situation is not any exception. He speaks again before she can analyze this development further. 

“Spock, is there any chance we could come in contact with any of these...  _ individuals _ again?”

“There is a small chance of less than 0.04 percent of The Enterprise encountering Tull on his travels aboard his vessel-“

“He’s working with a crew!”

“I- yes. Captain, I am not sure I understand why you are so intent on this.” 

Spock stops to bite her lip,and then remembers her father’s teachings and stops the action. She eyes the clench in his jaw again and reanalyzes the situation. 

The Captain’s posture is straighter by three percent, tenser by 4.8. The twitch in his cheek resembles one he took on during the mission to Caero II, when Chekov had gone missing for a near seven hours. The same twitch makes its way along his hands, curling them into fists. Yet, even with all this,the Captain does not loom over her. He keeps to his side of the board, within proximity but as far away from her within those limits. 

It is… protective but distant all at once. Almost as if he fears he will scare her if he comes too close. Almost as if…

_ Oh.  _

“Captain, I think there has been a misunderstanding.” She says, and will forever deny the warmth it brings her to know of his protection, even falsely invoked as it was. “Tull did not assault me.”

The line of Jim’s shoulders drops almost immediately. He blinks startled eyes up at her. 

“What?” He breathes, a gasp of a sound, just as sharp as it is deflated. 

“There were misunderstandings between us, and our relationship was not as secure as that between Nyota and myself, but I fully consented to our bond. You do not need to worry about me.”

“I’m always going to worry about you, Spock.” Jim shoots back, but the tension is gone from his body. He sends a weary smile her way. “I’m glad that I was wrong. That doesn’t make whatever he did any better, but I’m glad that I was wrong.”

“I am… pleased also.” She acquiesces, allowing the turn of phrase when it serves to chase the darkness from her Captain’s face.

One point two minutes later, their chess game continues. Five minutes later and Spock has an idea of how to handle the situation with Nyota, and Jim’s instructions to ‘ _ just talk to her’. _

The instructions seem easy enough. They are...less than so. Spock draws Nyota away easily enough, but expressing her thoughts and experiences has never been so difficult. Nyota holds her the entire time and does not stray. 

Eventually, Spock runs out of words, and Nyota makes up for it in kindness and soft brushes of lips and  _ acceptance  _ that is so bright it burns. They do nothing that night but lay next to each other, relearning the contours of each other’s bodies and never taking it further than that.

_ You deserve everything,  _ Nyota whispers into her skin.  _ I’ll give you everything. No one will ever make you feel that way again. _

Maybe Spock keeps her hairpieces in that night, but for once, she considers what it would feel like to have someone help her take them out.

-

Eventually, someone does help take them out, but it is not Nyota, but Jim. 

They are planetside, beamed in between one feuding group and another, and Spock barely has enough time to snag Jim by the waist and hurl them both to one side before the ground is exploding beneath them. 

_ Landmines,  _ Spock thinks immediately, hearing the beeping beneath them start up again. She jerks a startled Jim up by the collar, fists one hand in his uniform jacket and starts them at a run. Her other palm is frantically searching her pockets for the communicator that is usually at her waist. It’s most likely sitting in the rubble of their last location, she’d felt something fall off when she’d pulled them both away, but there’s no time to go find it now. Instead, she feels Jim jerk back into awareness and snatch her sleeve, both of them dodging and weaving and trying to keep ahead of the explosions behind them. 

They are free of the field, almost away from the danger when a new problem presents itself. Spock only sees the soldier emerge from the corner of her eye, and it's only instincts that make her quick enough to shield Jim the best she can with her own body. 

The shot rings out. There’s pain and the taste of dirt and copper filling her mouth. She thinks Jim fires his phaser. She thinks Jim flips her over, but Spock isn’t fully aware of anything until her Captain presses down hard on her abdomen, and she  _ screams _ . 

Above her, she can see how Jim’s face scrunches up when he cries, but he doesn’t let up on the pressure. With his free hand, he brushes her cheek and she can feel his fear and worry for her radiate through the touch. On the starship, she knows Nyota must be feeling it as well. Their bond is loud and panicked in her mind. 

Nyota will ensure the ship will find them, but how long will that take? Pinpointing their location without their comms will not be easy, not with the sheer mass of this planet. 

Spock could die here, easily. Spock is  _ likely _ going to die here, and that brings to mind thoughts that she had, until now pushed back. 

Spock  _ wants _ so much now. The Enterprise has made her into something that wants and needs things that she has never before. She wants to hold Nyota. She wants to play chess with Jim. She wants to argue with McCoy. She wants to watch Pavel grow. She wants to see Hikaru laugh. She wants to have Scott make  _ her  _ laugh. 

She wants to  _ live.  _

_ And just as importantly, she wants her crew to know this.  _

“Jim.” Spock says, clutching at Jim’s sleeve. “I want- I want you to see-.” Her breaths bitch again, in tune to the pulsing wound at her side. Jim hushes her softly, petting her cheek again and something in Spock  _ yearns.  _ If she dies here, she needs someone to see, she needs  _ Jim to see.  _

_ “ _ Family.” She whines. Her hand tugs Jim’s hand away from her cheek and up, until it rests at her hairline. “ _ Family _ .  _ Please _ .” 

His face crumples in understanding, but the hand at her forehead radiates not only pain but love. 

“I- yes, I - _ Spock _ .” Jim sobs, but tugs at her simple braid anyway. It falls away easily, and Spock feels something in her chest break as Jim softly starts to card his fingers through. She’s sobbing and her side aches and she can barely breathe, but all she can think to do is duck her head into Jim’s touch as much as she can.

The pure distress on her Captain’s face is the last thing she sees before she loses consciousness.

-

Spoke wakes. 

That in itself is a problem. Vulcans do not technically need sleep. A meditative trance is enough to keep a healthy Vulcan alive and fully functional. Sleeping only occurs in the young and injured. 

It is no stretch to determine which category she falls into. 

Still, the aches that greet her upon consciousness are not easy to acclimate to. Her head is heavy, her neck stiff, and her side spasms in pain with every breath drawn. Her hair spirals free under her head, unrestrained by its usual braid, in such a way that would cause her family to look upon her disregard of tradition in open shame. Yet, she does not feel outcast. Instead, opening her eyes is worth it, the pain is worth it, if only because immediately its swept away by the sheer warmth of her companion’s emotions. 

Vulcans are notorious touch-telepaths, and while this is mostly a problem in tight quarters, there is no animosity to be found here. Instead, Spock feels her attention drawn away by the soft streams of affection that bouey her already flighty consciousness. 

Nyota is asleep on her left side, hand clasping hers and fingers pressed lightly against her pulse point. Her usually immaculate hair is pulled up in a messy bun, half splayed out behind her head. Her lashes flutter softly as she breathes, catching on the stray strands that escaped her band.

Spock would reach out and fix it, if not for her other hand being just as occupied. Instead of clasping her hand as Nyota had done, Jim had fallen asleep along the bed and lodged his arm directly over her forearm, effectively trapping her unless she wants to wake her Captain. 

Judging by the bags framing his eyes, she very much does not. 

She would be more than content to settle back in for a meditative rest, if not for a soft squeal of boots that takes her attention away from her companions. Spock turns her head to see Dr. McCoy stepping out of his office, dismisses it, and then turns straight back when she notes the inconsistencies in his dress. Although his usual appearance is not as pristine as Nyota’s or even the Captain’s, there is a notable disheveled air to his current outfit that suggests either considerable drinking or a night spent going over notes and bio readings in an uncomfortable sick bay chair.

There is little conjecture to which McCoy had recently been a part of.

Still, it takes a moment to ignore the warmth blossoming in her chest. The skin to skin contact must be affecting her if she feels this much affection over something as simple as the doctor standing watch over her bedside, something that he is both paid and required to do.

If McCoy notices her minute crack in composure he doesn’t acknowledge it. He simply leans over her to fiddle with her bio readings with one hand, as his other drapes his uniform jacket over Nyota.

“They’ve been here all night.” McCoy says lowly. 

Spock only raises a brow in response.

“They do not appear to be the only ones.”

“Yah, well, I’m the only one who’s required to. With injuries like yours…” He pauses, something less than voluntary, as if completing the thought was something abhorrent. Spock eyes the soft tremble in the hand he runs down his face, and files it away for later meditation. 

McCoy takes another shaky breath and seems to compose himself. 

“I thought it would be best to stay here tonight. In case something went wrong.” 

He does not say  _ in case you died _ . Spock hears it anyway. She has been studying humans for as long as she has been alive, first with her mother, then her students, and finally with her crew, but she has only barely grasped an understanding of them. Still, sometimes this slight knowledge gives her better insight on how to handle being Commander on a ship mostly populated by humans. Sometimes, it even gives her a better insight on how to handle her crew. 

Especially situations like these, where even a foot apart, she can feel the worry and exhaustion clinging to McCoy like a shroud. 

Logic tells her that the true danger has passed, that McCoy will settle with her increase in health. Humans are predictable. With time and normalcy, they often return to their original state. Spock has seen it repeatedly, in the actions of her crew, even after large casualties.

Yet, she thinks of that tremble filed away in the back of her mind, feels the brush of  _ cotton sheets  _ against her leg, and decides that she is much faster and more effective than simple time.

“You are once again being illogical, Doctor.” She says quietly, and ignores the way McCoy’s face immediately goes red with rage. 

“I just saved your life!” McCoy snaps back. 

Spock nods to concede this point.

“You did not allow me to finish. If you are here, then there is a significant increase in my chance of survival. Your success rate with my care is the highest I have received, including both Vulcan treatment centers and on other medically advanced planets. Conjecturally speaking, even without a full tabulation of all of the Enterprise’s exploits, your treatment of my unique biology has always proven itself to be medically sound and-“

“Conjecturally? Spock what in the blazes-!” McCoy’s baffled yelp breaks through her sentence, his voice gaining volume before immediately quieting down. He flashes a desperate glance at their sleeping companions before continuing in a hiss. “Are you  _ complimenting  _ me?”

“It is simple fact, Doctor. Trial and experience has shown that I am always safe in your care,” she responds, and notes how the simple statement makes the doctor sputter. She ought to do it more often, if she is to classify exactly how he reacts.

“Well that’s, you can’t-“ McCoy sputters out a response, trying and failing to hide a grin. “Spock, sometimes I swear you’re just as much of a charmer as Jim.” 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about Doctor.”

Spock watches as exasperation and amusement in equal parts replace the once permeating worry. It does not do away from the exhaustion, but it is unlikely that anything but sleep will. At this point, any improvement in such a short time period is a positive change. 

Still sleep is necessary for human biology, and the doctor seems to have gone far too long without it. She notes at least three signs of sleep-deprivation in his demeanor, and some analytical part of her brain that isn’t slowed by pain and medication is already cataloging how dangerous that could be. 

She opens her mouth to protest his being here, and immediately stills at the hand he puts up to stop her. 

“I’m about to leave Spock, don’t go fussin’ over me.” 

Spock has to still her face to hold back the smile. It is… more difficult than it should be. Still, there is a matter that needs to be attended to before McCoy can leave, even if it is for his own good. 

She coughs once, just to get his attention. The slight concern in her friend’s eyes returns for a moment, as he turns back and gives her a thorough once over. He raises his brows at her in confusion when nothing stands out to him. 

“My hair-“ she offers as explanation, and McCoy floats his gaze up to her scalp before immediately jerking away when he realizes. 

“Sorr- shit I didn’t even think.” He raises his hand over his face to cover his eyes, and when he realizes that likely won’t work, turns away as quickly as possible. “I’m so sorry, Spock. I wasn’t even thinkin’ about that.”

It is more amusing than Spock would like to admit. She finds herself consoling him regardless. 

“It is fine.” And somehow, this is not a lie. No one but family should see her hair unconstrained; this rule has not changed. 

It is where she places McCoy that has shifted. This of course applies to the Captain and Nyota as well, but Spock has slowly become accustomed to that. McCoy’s new categorization is unexpected in a way the others isn’t. 

Unexpected but not unwelcome. Dr. McCoy takes care of her crew, her Captain, Spock herself. He is a valuable asset. A valuable… friend. 

As if reading her mind, McCoy shoots her a soft smile and reaches out to tap her girlfriend on the shoulder.

“Let me just wake Nyota, and she can help you alright?”

Spock opens her mouth before she can stop herself. When she speaks, her question rings through the quiet room. 

“Would you braid it for me?”

McCoy freezes, inches away from nudging Nyota, and fixes his gaze on her. After a moment, his eyes go soft, but his hands still stay rooted in place. 

“ _ Sunshine _ ,” He breathes, voice dipped low. He’s more than well aware that this is more than just a simple braid, even in his exhausted state. “You’re still in pain. You’re not thinking clearly. It’s- what you’re offerin’- I don’t want to- not if you’re not aware of what you’re lettin’ me do.”

She isn’t quite aware of what she’s doing either. Still, this is McCoy, who brought her Captain to her, who has held Nyota when she cried, who called someone else in when he would much rather treat her so that she would feel comfortable in his own sick bay. Who then learned everything about Vulcan anatomy when he found she wasn’t comfortable with this doctor anyway.

In her life, braiding was always an act reserved for family, but this is McCoy, so she tilts her head forward regardless. 

“Trial and experience, Doctor.” She says, and feels his hesitance through the light hand he lays against her neck as he settles in behind her. Hesitance and subtle, trembling awe that just barely masks the love raging below the surface.

That alone reaffirms her decision.

He takes up one tangled strand, and gives her one more chance to retract her statement. 

“Jo says I’m not even that good at braiding.”

Spock allows herself a quirk of her lips. Just one. It’s one more than she’d allow before she met this ridiculous group of humans

“Then, you shall have plenty of chance to learn before you see her again.”

McCoy huffs out a laugh behind her, along with something that sounds suspiciously like  _ brat _ , as he tugs lightly at her hair, deft fingers soothing out knots and tangles as he goes.

In the end, McCoy was right. It’s the worst braid she’s ever had. The strands aren’t tight enough, and it starts much too low, and it’s tied up too high along the braid for her liking. 

Still he is the second person to touch her hair after her mother passed. He had done so with reverence and care. 

She thinks she could get used to it.

—

Spock blinks herself awake.

This sleep is a choice, spurred on by trust and warmth that had put her so at ease she had been nearly asleep before they had been in bed. Nyota is curled around her waist. Her hairpieces lay in a pile on her bedside table, each carefully undone by her girlfriend's hand. In two hours, she has a meeting with McCoy and Jim to discuss their latest mission from Command. 

She will leave her room with an updo, and let it loose during their meeting, hair flowing freely down her back, no fixings but the small braid beside her ear McCoy did days ago. No one will mention it. They’ll all cry anyway. None of this will make Spock any less of a Vulcan.

But for now, she settles further down into the bed and lets Nyota’s soft breathing carry herself back off to sleep. 

**Author's Note:**

> As someone who's never written Nyota/Spock in anything, I hope this turned out alright. They aren't necessarily my favorite couple but they have a very sweet dynamic and it was super fun to write!! Also the platonic relationships between everyone else was great!! I had a lot of fun focusing in on how this sort of physical reminder of Spock's heritage would play into a world like this one. 
> 
> I want to focus in really quick on the relationship between McCoy and Spock. I know a lot of people tend to gloss over his characterization in the first series (specifically his relationship with Spock) as a product of the times. They either focus in on it as bad and dismiss his character entirely, OR they ignore it and pretend that it didn't happen. And I completely understand this! I've done the same in some of my other fics because I wanted the writing to come as a product of THESE times or I wanted a different effect. That being said, I wanted to show how if it were to still occur, how it would be handled. I grew up in an area where many people haven't even heard of the country my family is from. So I've spent a lot of time educating people on wordage that maybe isn't politically correct for me or showing them cool things about my culture. I know that people shouldn't have to be this way with people who are hurtful towards them, even if it is genuine ignorance of how harmful it can be. However, since I've done a lot of that sort of thing, I wanted to try and put some of that forgiveness and guidance into this piece! Again, don't think of this as a critique of anyone's actions in any way. It's just how I might have handled this sort of thing.
> 
> Anyways, I'd love to hear from yall! If you can comment, I'd love to hear y'alls opinions on this piece! I hope everyone's doing alright with everything that's going on! Please stay safe and healthy yall!


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